


The A Squad

by Sineala



Category: The Professionals
Genre: Alpha/Alpha, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, M/M, Undercover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-23
Updated: 2015-12-23
Packaged: 2018-05-08 17:26:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5506499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sineala/pseuds/Sineala
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The "A" in "A Squad" stands for "alpha." That should mean a lot of things, but Bodie's never really been one for rules.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The A Squad

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lysimache](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lysimache/gifts).



> Happy birthday! Sorry it took me so long to write this!
> 
> This is, as far as I can tell, the first A/B/O story in Pros fandom. Pros fans who have never encountered this particular trope before may wish to refer to [Alphas, Betas, Omegas: A Primer](http://archiveofourown.org/works/403644) or the [Fanlore entry on Alpha/Beta/Omega](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Alpha/Beta/Omega). I should probably mention that this story isn't really a typical example of this genre.
> 
> (Thanks to [halotolerant](http://archiveofourown.org/users/halotolerant) for Britpick/beta.)

Cowley had written "The A Squad" on the board, and Bodie raised an eyebrow to Doyle, standing next to him.

"You reckon we're getting an O Squad next?" he whispered. "That's the kind of personal attention I'd like to see."

Doyle's eyes glinted in amusement. It wasn't the sort of thing he liked to be caught laughing at -- an enlightened alpha, our Ray, Bodie thought -- and he didn't make the jokes himself, but he usually poked Bodie in the ribs and told him he was horrible while snickering.

There was a B Squad, so it wasn't as ridiculous an idea as all that; the kinds of alphas CI5 recruited ran hot and fractious as a general rule, and Cowley liked to have some cooler, calmer types interspersed. The betas were nothing if not levelheaded -- and if nothing else, they were better at actually doing the paperwork.

Not even Cowley would have hired an omega. You couldn't possibly. They'd be on medical leave four times a year for heats, and then if they got pregnant, well, that was another year off work. CI5 would get out of them nowhere near what it would have put in. Basic facts. It wasn't that they couldn't be good shots or handle themselves or any of those things -- Bodie was willing to concede this much, because he wasn't some omega-hating caveman -- but, well. They had families to think about.

"Something funny, 3.7?" Cowley asked, crisply, and some of the new agents glanced back at them.

New agents. Bodie inhaled and got a lungful of alpha pheromones for his trouble. The first few days around a new bunch were always rough, when they started coming off the blockers and everything went haywire until their bodies adjusted to their new normal, their unaltered selves.

Bodie coughed. "No, sir."

"Excellent," Cowley said, and he continued on with the briefing.

* * *

Terrorists. Guns. Another ordinary Friday.

It was the boring part of the obbo, which meant that they were sitting here in the dark in a parked car, waiting for the suspected terrorists to show up. Bodie yawned and stole the Thermos out of Doyle's hands; Doyle must have been knackered, because he barely protested. He raised an elegant eyebrow and kept his gaze on the darkened buildings around them.

Bodie found himself more than a little resentful that they hadn't made a move yet; he'd been hoping to have a night out on the weekend, go dancing, pick up a beta at one of the clubs, maybe take them home.

He liked betas. You had to bring your game, with them; you had to woo them. You had to make an effort. You couldn't just go full-alpha with the scents and expect them to fall at your feet, wide-eyed and docile. Not that anyone did that since the bloody Dark Ages, but well, with omegas, you always knew you _could_. He wondered if maybe that was why most alphas still liked it the traditional way. It was easy. Simple.

They were in CI5, and so it could be especially simple. Police, army, intelligence services -- the government needed them for their muscle, for their power, for their alpha reflexes and instincts, and so they didn't have to take the blockers that the rest of society generally did, the ones that kept the pheromones dialed down to a level appropriate for the public. Going out for an evening with the rest of the alphas from CI5 was always an interesting experience on the dance floor. The omegas just flocked to them. They couldn't really help being interested, not with millions of years of biology telling them to sit up and pay attention.

But Bodie, well. Bodie always liked the chase, didn't he?

"Oi, Ray," Bodie said, just to keep Doyle awake. "Got any big plans? You still seeing Diane?"

He hoped that was her name. Doyle's taste was practically invariant: omegas as far down as they could go into the phenotype. Slim, small, meek, _fragile_. Bodie had never met this one, but he'd met the last one, Iris, and before that, John, and they were practically carbon-copies of each other, with maybe the skin tone or eye and hair color changing if Doyle was feeling particularly daring.

Bodie stared at Doyle's profile, cast into shadow by a streetlight -- the angles of his face both harsh and delicate at the same time, his wide green eyes gone half-lidded in fatigue, the vulnerable slope of his throat. He thought about genetics. He thought about the general unfairness of the universe.

"Yeah," Doyle mumbled. "Still with her. Why?"

"Just wondering," Bodie said. "Hey, have you ever... you know? With an omega?" He made the usual obscene gesture, index finger extended, thumb held out against it.

That woke Doyle up, all right. "Christ, mate, you sure go for the personal questions." He looked a little resentful. "No, I haven't bloody well _knotted anyone_. You think I want kids, with a job like this?"

Bodie held up his hands in surrender. "No, I just. I was thinking. Isn't that what people say about sleeping with omegas? Like it's the pinnacle of human existence. I was just wondering. About the universe. Thinking."

Doyle sighed. "Think less, Bodie. You scare me sometimes." He shrugged helplessly. "I wouldn't know, about the knotting. I just said."

"Not just the knotting," Bodie said. The words weren't coming out right. He waved his hand. "Everything. The whole omega... thing."

"What, the foundation of human civilization? The natural order of alpha and omega? That which separates us from the animals?" Doyle's grin was wry. "I don't know about it being the pinnacle of human civilization, but it just feels _right_. Not that you'd know, with all your bloody betas. You might try pulling an omega, just once."

"I'll have you know I did," Bodie said, tartly. And he had. Just once.

He'd been in Angola, eighteen and scared and never wanting anyone to know, but someone had wanted to make a proper alpha of him, when they'd found out he hadn't done it before, and, well, it was nice enough, and at least the other bloke had been willing, so there was his minimum standards met. Bodie supposed he'd been pretty, if you liked that sort of thing, all luminous eyes and soft skin, his body pliant and welcoming.

And Bodie had sat there afterwards and thought _this can't be the best it gets_ and _I can do better than this_.

* * *

Saturday morning, they'd finally caught Rivers with the guns.

By Saturday night, Rivers had given up the name of his supplier.

Sunday morning, Doyle stomped into HQ, glared at everyone who wished him a good morning, and muttered under his breath -- for Bodie's ears alone -- that Diane had broken up with him.

"Sorry to hear that," Bodie said, and he half was and he half wasn't. "But can I interest you in breaking into someone's flat with me? We've got a line on some machine guns."

And Doyle brightened right up, like a sunrise. The way to his heart was violence, pure and simple.

Bodie wondered if any of Doyle's omegas ever got to see that side of him.

It was one of Bodie's favorite things about him, actually.

* * *

There were crates of guns neatly tucked away under the dining-room table, like someone had been trying to win a home-decorating contest. Supply black-market weapons, but don't let it mess up your color scheme, Bodie thought, and he laughed.

It sounded like Anson and McCabe had found something of interest in the bedroom, as well, to judge by the laughter from there, and so Bodie left Doyle with the guns and headed in.

"What have we got here? More guns? Drugs?"

McCabe turned around. "Nah. The guy's just a pervert, that's all."

Anson was still laughing.

They'd moved the bed, and they stepped back to let Bodie get a better look at the magazines that were spilling out from underneath. Bright, lurid colors, flesh, lewd poses. Pornography. Alpha wank mags, because everyone knew alphas had needs like that. It was understood. It was everywhere. Magazines, adult films, page three omegas. Sometimes you just needed someone pretty to look at.

But these weren't just wank mags for alphas. No, they were _about_ alphas. All of them. Not an omega in sight.

_Battle for dominance_ , the cover of one said, and there were two women, clearly alphas by their height and build, their faces inches apart, expressions set in an intense stare of alpha intimidation, the precursor to claiming -- or what would have been claiming if there had been omegas involved. They were dressed traditionally, in suits, but their collared shirts were undone, and Bodie could just barely make out the suggestion of cleavage, the shadow of a nipple. The taller woman was smirking down at the shorter one, and Bodie reckoned she could make out a lot more.

He bent down and paged through it. The inside was black and white, much racier than the rest, and... all alphas. Women. Men. Bodie stopped on a particularly dramatic display of penetration, two alpha men. The photograph wasn't anything like artistic; it was arranged mostly so that the viewer had the best view of cock-in-arse. And there wasn't a knot, of course, there wasn't ever going to be a knot, not without omega pheromones, but somehow it was perfect anyway, like the two men belonged there, just like that. The photographer had captured them in mid-thrust, and the bottom's arm -- rippling with muscle, more than any omega ever had -- was flailing out, reaching for the top, drawing him close.

Bodie realized he was getting hard.

McCabe and Anson were still laughing, heading out into the hallway.

"Two alphas," Anson said. "I mean, can you imagine what you'd do in bed with an alpha? D'you think it even _fits_ in them if they're not an omega?"

McCabe laughed, low and mean. "Well, _yours_ might--"

"Oh, piss off," Anson said, and there was more laughter, growing fainter as the two moved on.

When Bodie was certain they weren't watching anymore, he picked up the magazine and stuffed it into his jacket.

* * *

_Is this going to be a problem?_ Cowley had asked him, when he'd joined.

He'd known. Of course he'd known. You didn't join CI5 with anything anyone could blackmail you for. You made sure your boss knew about it, and then you let him make the call. And Cowley had made the call.

_No, sir_ , Bodie had said.

Cowley had sipped his scotch and given Bodie a long, considering look, across the desk. _The nature of this work requires you to be in contact with your fellow alphas -- your colleagues, your partner -- off blockers, in intense situations. Heightened... emotions... might be expected_.

_I can handle it_ , Bodie had said. _It won't be a problem._

He brought the magazine home, curled up with it on his unwashed sheets, and got himself off twice in a row, imagining Ray Doyle's face twisted in ecstasy.

It wasn't a problem.

* * *

On Monday the two of them got the next briefing: bloke named Taylor, into the usual nasty stuff, had a habit of making pretty little omegas disappear. Bodie sat and watched Doyle's hands as he flipped through the file.

"In this situation, undercover work is called for," Cowley said.

Bodie stared at Doyle and Doyle stared back, just as confused, because CI5 didn't _have_ omegas. He supposed Cowley could be planning on bringing in someone as an outside consultant, but as far as he knew the other intelligence services weren't any more progressive in their hiring policies.

And then Cowley looked at Doyle. "Agent 4.5," he said, crisply. "It occurs to me that you are of a slim build, for an alpha."

"Yeah, what about it?"

Bodie could practically see the hackles going up on Doyle as he answered. Doyle had never really been one for talking about his past, but he could see the story all too easily -- skinny little bastard that he was, everyone had probably expected him to present as an omega. He'd probably had years of taunts, years of bullies, preparing him for his fate... and then he'd hit the alpha hormones hard, shot up, and put on muscle.

But he still held himself like he expected someone was going to try to knock him down.

Bodie had never asked Doyle who broke his face.

And then something must have occurred to Doyle, because he shook his head violently. "No. No way. Definitely not."

Cowley's gaze was still fixed on Doyle's, and Bodie had no idea what was going on. Undercover work. They had no omegas. Where were they supposed to get a--?

Oh. _Oh_. Well.

"No," Doyle said again, but it didn't really matter what he wanted, did it?

* * *

The smell was the first thing Bodie noticed when he stepped in the door, because he couldn't not notice. God. The world tilted dizzily around him and his pulse pounded in his ears, heavy and fast.

They'd done a good job turning Doyle into an omega. Maybe too good a job. His hair was a little redder now, his lashes lengthened with mascara, and a touch of subtle lipstick, eyeshadow, eyeliner -- the kind of thing any omega might wear on a night out. The makeup had been done with a deft hand, softening the angular lines of Doyle's face, smoothing it out, hiding that alpha sharpness and blending it away.

They'd given him new clothes, too. A soft, rich shirt hung loosely about his chest. It was looser than the height of omega fashion, but they needed to hide his muscles, and they needed room for the wire Doyle was going to wear. The jeans, too, were looser than was fashionable, but in this case, a revealing garment would reveal too much, as Bodie was certain Doyle had the physical attributes of an alpha in every particular. One's natural endowment was one of the more obvious differences.

But Jesus Christ, the _scent_ on him. Bodie didn't know what kind of drugs CI5 had access to, and frankly he didn't want to know, but they made Doyle smell like an omega five minutes from heat. It had been lathered on thickly, enough to overwhelm his natural scent, and there was so much of it that it was all Bodie could breathe. His entire world was Doyle.

Alphas did it for him. He knew this. He'd known it since he was thirteen, before he'd even presented. Doyle hadn't had to do anything but show up and be who he was for Bodie to fall and fall hard. But apparently an alpha covered in something like what could have been his own heat-scent -- as if that could ever exist -- just made Bodie's contrary biology sit up and take notice, and push him twice as hard.

He was weak in the knees. He was probably half-hard from the scent alone. Doyle was standing right there, head tilted up in alpha defiance and domination, and Bodie just wanted to put his teeth to Doyle's throat and follow every single ingrained impulse in him, as old as humanity. He wanted-- he wanted--

He fucking wanted not to want this, that was what he wanted.

He didn't need some bloody omega pheromones from a tin telling him what he wanted.

But this was what he was getting.

Doyle bared his teeth, all alpha, and the _pose_ and the _scent_ , and God, he couldn't think about anything else.

"You tell anyone else about this," Doyle growled, "I'll break your face, and don't think I won't."

Bodie smiled a crooked smile. "Wouldn't dream of it, sunshine."

But he was going to be dreaming of this one for a while. Unfortunately.

* * *

It got better when they were actually underway, because at least then Bodie didn't have to be in a room with him. Bodie got to sit outside with the radio man, while Doyle went into the club. They'd agreed that if Doyle, the poor helpless omega, were to mention his alpha -- and Bodie wanted to laugh at the irony of that, because it wasn't as if everyone didn't know that was him, for the purposes of the assignment -- well, then Bodie and the others would storm in, guns blazing.

Doyle wasn't armed.

Doyle could take care of himself, Bodie thought, sternly, shoving back those alpha protective instincts that wanted to come out and play. Doyle wasn't actually the frail omega he was playing at being.

There was nothing to do but sit and listen.

At least they'd given him a pair of headphones this time, so he could patch in. Murphy and Jax were down the street, waiting on his signal. If Doyle called, they'd all come running.

Not that there was anything to hear now, but the occasional noise of Doyle saying hello, shouting his name over the noise of the music -- and, to judge from his excuses, fending off a lot of alphas. No wonder, the way he smelled.

"Thanks, but no thanks," Doyle said, in his ear.

He could just imagine Doyle turning him down like that, if he ever asked. Assuming he didn't get a disgusted grimace. Or worse. Which was... also possible.

Bodie sighed.

Another few minutes, a babble of voices. Then--

"Very nice to meet you, Mr. Taylor," Doyle said, and Bodie sat up straight.

They were on now.

The conversation that followed was... well, flirtatious. Doyle affected wide-eyed omega interest, amazement that the man who owned this club would be taking an interest.

"Oh, that's very kind of you to say," Doyle said, in answer to some unheard compliment, and he laughed breathily, a softly pleasing omega sound, nothing like his real voice. "You're so lovely."

He imagined Doyle saying that to him, and then his imagination failed him entirely, because the real Ray Doyle would never, but he wanted him to, but not like this. Not like this at all.

Bodie missed the next few lines, but then Doyle laughed again.

"Of course," Doyle said, again in that breathy voice. "I'm sure your room upstairs would be ever so much more comfortable. In the back, you said?"

There was the slightest stress on _upstairs_ and _back_. Doyle was giving them the location as best as he could.

They were moving fast -- but, well, the way Doyle smelled right now, he supposed anyone would want to.

And there was nothing but rustling; Doyle was moving. There were a few polite noises of interest, and then a door slamming loudly enough that even the microphones picked it up.

"Hey, what's this?" The fear was affected, but there was a tension in Doyle's voice underneath it, that was real. "Threesomes aren't really my scene. Just one of you will be plenty."

The reply was indistinct, but if Doyle's mic was picking it up at all, one of the men -- three of them? -- had to be standing close.

"Maybe I ought to go," Doyle said. "I think I've changed my mind. _My alpha_ at home will be waiting for me."

That was it, that was it, that was the sign. Doyle needed him. Them. Doyle needed _them_.

Bodie ripped off the headphones, switched the R/T to Murphy's channel, and snapped, "4.5 needs us."

He was already out of the van and on the pavement, and only the barest shred of good sense kept him from running in there with his gun actually drawn.

He shoved past the bouncer, inside, up a flight up of stairs, across a floor under flashing lights, running to the pounding of the music, and then-- there. The door in the corner. He tried it. Locked. Bodie took a breath and channeled every bit of frenzied alpha rage -- this, this was why they took agents off the blockers -- and the door broke under his fists.

More stairs. Two at a time. Another locked door, at the top of the hallway. Murphy and Jax were behind him, he thought, dimly, and he kicked the second door down--

And Doyle was sitting on the edge of a desk, grinning toothily up at him. A bruise was blossoming on his cheek, there was a cut just above his eyebrow, and there were three unconscious alphas lying on the floor.

"You took your time, didn't you?" Doyle said, still grinning, and he wiped the blood away with the back of his hand. It was his real voice. "Don't worry. I handled it."

He was a triumphant alpha, every inch the victor, and he still smelled like an omega in heat. Everything within Bodie said _yes_ , and he looked away.

* * *

They'd dragged the unfortunate Mr. Taylor and his associates out to the street.

"Good work, lads," Cowley had said, and somebody had finally peeled the wire off Doyle, and then Jax and Murphy had disappeared with the men in question.

And then it was the two of them alone on the street, and Bodie just wanted to lean into Doyle and scent him.

Everything felt thick, foggy, like moving underwater, like wading through honey. He thought maybe he was dreaming.

Doyle was next to him, and Doyle's eyes were wide and still dark, and he smelled-- God, he smelled so good, and Bodie hated that he liked it--

There was an alleyway, and thank God there was even that, because it was all that Bodie could manage.

"Hey!" Doyle said, as Bodie pushed him backwards into the darkness. "Hey, Bodie, what the hell--"

" _Ray_ ," Bodie said, low and hoarse, and then he tilted his face into Doyle's neck, breathing in the omega scent where they'd marked him, and it was wrong, it wasn't Doyle, it didn't smell like Doyle at all, but he wanted this, he wanted it so badly.

He couldn't think at all. He wondered if this was what it felt like, if you were with an omega in heat. Some part of his mind found it distantly terrifying.

There was a crooked kind of justification running in his head. Anyone who could see them would think Doyle was an omega. They would think Doyle was _his_ omega -- and, Christ, Bodie had never understood what people thought was sexy about claiming until right fucking now. And it would be all right to do this, because they would look normal. They wouldn't look like two alphas.

They could hide it.

Even if the rest of CI5 knew, even if they found out, they'd think it was the omega pheromones, making Bodie want this. It would be understandable. He'd have an excuse.

No one would know he'd already wanted it.

Their lips met. Doyle kissed him back, hot and wet and yearning, kissing like an alpha trying to take the reins, even as his scent said _take me_. There was alpha need in there too, insistent, a heady melange of scent, and God, Bodie wanted everything from him, everything right now.

Bodie's leg slid between Doyle's thighs, and Doyle whimpered into his mouth, and God, he was hard, they both were--

Bodie ground against him and half-wondered if the artificial pheromones could fool him enough to get him to knot Doyle, and Jesus Christ, he didn't even _like_ omegas like that, there was no way that should be as hot an idea as it sounded, and he wanted that, he wanted that, he wanted to do that--

And then Doyle pulled his mouth away.

"We can't, Bodie," he whispered. "You can't. It's a trick, it's a fucking trick, okay? You know this. Think, Bodie. You know this. This is fake. My body-- it doesn't do that, remember? It doesn't do what you want it to do. I can't slick up for you. You can't knot me. We don't fit. It isn't real." His eyes fell shut. "God, Bodie, if you were an omega-- if we could, I would, okay? It would be you, but it can't be."

Confused, Bodie stared at him. Nothing was making sense.

Doyle laughed, a slow, sad sound. "We can't do this, Bodie. We literally cannot do this."

More silence.

"I'm taking you home," Doyle said. "Your place. And leaving you there. You'll feel better once you've gotten the scent out of your nose."

He turned and headed for the street.

Bodie couldn't make himself say anything, but he followed.

* * *

They were parked outside Bodie's flat.

"Well," Bodie said into the silence. "Here's my stop." And then he paused and looked sidelong at Doyle. "You should come inside with me."

Doyle blinked a few times and said nothing.

"You should shower," he added. "I've got the good soap. It'll take omega scent right off you. Don't suppose the Cow thought to give you any of that."

He was grateful that apparently Doyle just wasn't going to wonder why Bodie would have wanted to smell less like an omega. The stereotypical bachelor alpha possessions were all omega scented, for all the lonely bastards in the world; granted, the scents of commercial products were subtle, nothing like the high-grade pheromones that they'd drenched Doyle in.

"If this is some plot where you--"

"If you think I'm going to burst in on you showering," Bodie said, grimly, "then lock the door. You're not actually in heat."

Doyle's eyes met his. "Fine."

* * *

"It wasn't the omega scent," Bodie said, as soon as the door closed behind both of them, aware that the air was heady with it and that if he stood here much longer it was actually going to be the omega scent, but he knew he owed Doyle some kind of apology.

Doyle snorted. "Yeah, because I've known you for five years and you make a habit of dragging me into alleys and kissing me."

"It _wasn't_ ," Bodie insisted, and he sighed. "I can't think. Take a shower already, Ray."

"Not actually your omega, you know," Doyle said, but he went anyway.

After a few minutes, the water came on and Bodie had covered the room with enough deodorizing spray so that the scent faded into a half-hearted aphrodisiac, tingling on his skin. It was the best he could do.

* * *

Doyle was wrapped in Bodie's dressing-gown and toweling himself off. He smelled like himself again, and there were no longer bloody biological impulses compelling Bodie to launch himself at him. No, just regular desire, Bodie thought, and he watched a droplet of water trace a path down Doyle's neck.

"Look," Doyle said, like they'd been having a conversation. "It's okay for you to admit it was the scent. That's what it's supposed to do. I'm not blaming you, and you don't need to apologize."

Bodie hadn't actually managed to make himself apologize so far. "It still wasn't the scent--"

"Really, it's all right," Doyle repeated, like he was trying to win an Olympic medal in Being Understanding, when he understood nothing at all.

"It _wasn't_ ," Bodie insisted.

Something cracked in Doyle's face.

Doyle stepped dangerously close, inside Bodie's personal space, all alpha threat. "Then scent me _now_ ," he said, low and intense, trying to call Bodie's bluff. "How do you like this?"

His gaze was intense, and he definitely smelled like an alpha, fierce and strong and everything Bodie had ever wanted and here he was, _offering_ \--

"I love it, actually," Bodie said, and he leaned in and bit Doyle hard on the side of the neck, tasting him, filling his senses with the sharp, _real_ scent of him.

Doyle yelped in surprise and then growled back, pure alpha in challenge, good, good, oh God, good, and Bodie was half-hard at the sound alone. Their lips met, and then Bodie, in a daze, had his hands on the tie of Doyle's robe before Doyle pushed him away.

Doyle was staring at him in shock. There wasn't really another explanation for this, and God, Bodie had just ruined everything.

Doyle's hand went to to his neck, where Bodie had bitten him--

"Bodie, what--"

"I like alphas," Bodie said, dully. "I like _alphas_ , okay?" He sighed and shut his eyes. "And before you ask, yes, I've always known, and yes, the Cow knew when he hired me, and it's not the bloody pheromones, and it's not a phase."

When he opened his eyes, expecting horror, shock, betrayal, Doyle was instead staring at him with a tentative hope. "I thought," Doyle said. "I thought-- I mean, I always wondered what it would be like--"

He shouldn't do this. Doyle was going to try it on, use him, treat him as an entertaining curiosity, and then go back to dainty little omegas.

"Yeah, yeah," Bodie said. "Fantasizing about alphas occasionally, statistically normal, humans fall on a spectrum. Don't worry, it doesn't mean you actually want to do everything you get off on--"

"Wondering about what it would be like with _you_ , you idiot," Doyle snapped, and somehow the alpha command of it went straight to Bodie's cock even as the rest of the words filtered through his brain.

"Oh."

"And you wanted me," Doyle said, "but you only wanted me because of the scents, and I-- I couldn't. Not like that, not when it's fake. I'm not your omega, Bodie. I can't be." His lips quirked. "I don't know how to do this. How does this work?"

"It works any way you want it to, sunshine," Bodie said. "No rules. And I don't actually want you to be my omega. And I don't want to be your omega. That's sort of the point here."

He couldn't possibly be considering this.

It wouldn't be a problem, he'd sworn.

Well, it wasn't a problem if they both wanted it, was it?

"But we don't--" Doyle swallowed hard. "How-- how do we _fit_?"

He wasn't sure how Doyle meant that. "Couple of different answers. One, think of everything you want to do to an omega and do it to me. We do-- whatever we want. Two, I do actually own Vaseline. Assuming we decide we want to do that at all. You don't need to slick up naturally for it to count, Ray."

Doyle blinked. "Oh."

"Could start out with something else, though."

Bodie held his arms wide and tilted his head back, letting his throat show. Vulnerability, alpha-style.

Doyle growled again and lunged for him, and his teeth scraped Bodie's throat, raw and fierce, before their mouths met again. Doyle was ripping Bodie's shirt open, one-handed, and he palmed him hard through his jeans as Bodie groaned back.

"Christ, you're big," Doyle muttered, and then he broke into a moan as Bodie yanked the tie of the robe away and got his own hand round Doyle's cock.

"That's what you get if you don't date bloody omegas, mate," Bodie mumbled. "All for you."

Doyle laughed low and dirty and ripped Bodie's jeans open, stroking him roughly. It was absolutely perfect. "Oh," he said, and his eyes gleamed dark as he watched Bodie fall apart under his hands. "You like that, don't you?" He said it like he'd found a weakness and wanted to go straight for Bodie's throat and somehow it was the hottest thing Bodie had ever heard.

"Not going to last," Bodie admitted; he was far too keyed up from earlier. "God. Ray. Come with me."

" _Make me_ ," Doyle snarled, arousal and alpha command, and Bodie pushed the robe off Doyle's shoulder and scraped his teeth against bare skin, over the spot where he'd bitten, filling his senses with _alpha alpha alpha yes_.

He slid his fist to the base of Doyle's cock, where the knot would have been, and Doyle whimpered, on the edge.

"I'm making you," Bodie told him, grinning, and Doyle kissed him and, God, bit his lip, and stroked him just right, heavy and rough and he was coming, and Doyle was coming--

And then neither of them could quite stand up anymore and they were in a pile in the middle of the floor. Bodie's head was on Doyle's bare chest as his heartbeat slowed.

"Don't second-guess it," Bodie muttered. He'd been trying to say something reassuring, but that was all that he could manage. Less reassured, more in need of reassurance himself.

Doyle's arm tightened around him. "Not going to. You've got me. We're a team."

"That's us, huh? Best of the A Squad."

"Yeah," Doyle agreed. "We fit."

**Author's Note:**

> This story has [a post](http://sineala.tumblr.com/post/135808598564/fic-the-a-squad) on [my Tumblr](http://sineala.tumblr.com), if you want to like/reblog it.


End file.
